


When Did You Get So Lost?

by MYSTERYstew



Series: The Anomaly AU [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Assassination, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Five is thirteen, I mean I typed blood a lot though, In more ways than one, It's not the hug he deserves, Kinda? Yes and no, Number Five | The Boy Gets A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, The Handler is The Handler, There's some description but not too much I think, the honeymoon is over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MYSTERYstew/pseuds/MYSTERYstew
Summary: “You made me a killer,” Five breathes, his chest finally slowing its rapid rising and falling.The Handler stops whatever she was saying, tilting her head, shadowy eyes fixating on him. “What was that?”“You made me a killer,” he accuses louder, voice rough.The smile slides off her face.--Or, the story of an eventual 1938 cold case
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & The Handler (Umbrella Academy)
Series: The Anomaly AU [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934554
Comments: 17
Kudos: 76





	When Did You Get So Lost?

The wind rushes in through the open windows, tossing loose strands of Sophie’s hair across her face. Beside her Andrew holds his hand outside the window absently waving it through the car’s jet stream and flicking his eyes to meet her own with a smile. Sophie meets him smile for smile, giddy at the still-new weight on her ring finger.

After their wedding, Sophie had expected to stay in Andrew’s parent’s house, getting used to living with him and integrating with his family. They didn’t have the money or time to spend on a honeymoon, that was just a fact of the times they are living in. But then her in-laws had surprised them, they talked to their bosses and managed to get them time off and then they pooled enough money to rent a lakeside cabin for two days.

Thanks to them she’s driving down a dirt road with her new husband, heading to a cabin where they’ll have nothing but each other to worry about, dust kicking up from their tires and leaving a trail behind them.

Finally, Andrew stops the car, throwing it into park and turning off the engine. The cabin isn’t huge, a simple two-story place with the entire second floor being a single bedroom according to the ad her mother-in-law had eagerly shoved into her hands.

They slide out of the car, taking in the view of the lake. It’s one of the smaller ones that cropped up near the big lake the city sits on, making it the perfect getaway due to how short the travel distance is, yet its far enough away that the sounds of the city are a distant memory.

Andrew comes around to her side of the car, smiling wide. Sophie matches his grin with her own, gasping in surprise as his arms wind around her and sweep her off her feet. “Excuse me, Miss,” he apologizes slyly.

Sophie winds her arms around his neck, leaning closer. “That’s Missus to you, Mister.” He steps over the threshold, strong arms holding her weight.

Sophie wastes no time in swapping out her stiff cotton blouse and skirt for a swimsuit and sundress, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail. She heads to the kitchen to prepare a lunch and wait for Andrew to finish changing as well.

He wanders in with a loose shirt and trousers. Sophie steps up to him, grabbing his shirt collar to urge him into a kiss, slowly guiding him forward, reluctant to release him. She uses her hold on his shirt to haul Andrew out of the house, basket tucked in her arm and filled with sandwiches for lunch. She's quick to drop the basket and shed her sundress for her swimsuit, running into the lake with a shout. She casts her eyes back to her husband (stomach flipping because that’s _her husband_ ) and catches him hopping and tripping over his pants in his rush to change and run after her. He makes it into the water eventually, diving beneath the surface and popping up next to her, drawing her close.

The sandwiches are soggy by the time they eat, fingers prune-like and entwined, their cheeks rosy from the sun and their closeness.

They eventually leave the shore, chilled by the sinking sun and extending shadows. Sophie’s hair dries straight, the ringlets she wore earlier washed out, meanwhile Andrew’s hair curls naturally without gel to tame it. Sophie runs her fingers through the soft swirls absolutely delighted. “You should wear your hair like this more.”

Andrew’s lips twitch. “Like it that much, huh?”

Sophie pulls his head down gently with the hold she has on his hair, pecking his lips softly. “I like everything about you,” she admits, forehead pressed to his.

“Well that just can’t be true,” he smiles, hands rubbing along her back.

Sophie hums, as though she has to think it through, then grins at him. “You’re right. I don’t think I’ll like it if you snore.”

“I better start working up some points with you now then. Spaghetti sound good?”

They dance around each other in the kitchen, reaching around each other for ingredients or utensils, falling into mock embraces. Sophie steals more than one kiss, slipping away before Andrew can reciprocate.

They don’t bother with the table, settling in the living room and lighting a fire. It acts as the only light source in the room, creating an intimate bubble around the two of them as the sky turns black outside. Andrew waves a bottle of wine at her, popping the cork out and pouring them glasses. It’s cheap wine, but they’ve both grown used to the cheaper things in life. It’s a necessity when the economy is in a depression. They’re both fortunate to have a supportive community and work, Andrew had survived the massive lay-offs of the motor assembly line and Sophie worked with an older seamstress, the two of them the only employees in her shop.

Sophie leans back against the arm of the couch, propping her feet in Andrew’s lap and groaning. His hands began to work on the soles of her feet deftly, rubbing out the ache.

“You’re going to spoil me,” she warns.

“Shouldn’t I spoil my wife?” he counters, rubbing his hands along her ankles.

Sophie shakes her head at him, feeling a thrill when he calls her his wife. “You’ll ruin me for anyone else.”

He smirks at her. “You’re catching on. How’s the neck?”

“Sore,” she admits. Hours spent bent over sewing machines meticulously stitching pieces together leave her neck feeling stiff and uncomfortable.

“I have hot and cold rub somewhere in the bags,” Andrew says, standing with a stretch.

“Thank you,” she says gratefully. He leaves, the stairs creaking faintly as he ascends them. Sophie sighs, rolling her neck and reaching for her wine glass, taking a sip and setting it on the side table next to her.

There’s a _thunk_ from upstairs followed by a muffled curse. Sophie smiles, head tilting to look at the ceiling. “Everything okay, Doll?” she calls.

“Oh, it’s splendid, darling,” Andrew answers back, voice strained as he moves something heavy.

Sophie chuckles to herself, cutting off abruptly.

A hand covers her mouth and pulls her further into the couch, forcing her head all the way back. Sophie tries to yell, but her voice is muffled by the hand clamped down on her like iron. Above her there’s a face that doesn’t belong to Andrew. It’s a boy, a child based on how young he looks, dark hair falling onto his forehead and green eyes shining in the firelight.

Then there’s fire and ice cutting along her neck. She whimpers, feeling hot blood run down to her chest, soaking the fabric. She flails an arm out weakly, not sure what she’s trying to do, panicking at the pain and the grey encroaching on her vision. There’s copper clogging her mouth, impossible to breathe through. She’s dying. She’s going to die she realizes, staring into those green eyes. They fade to grey, blurring into nothing. Sophie’s arm flails weakly one last time, numb and ungainly. A death throe.

Five watches the woman’s eyes lose awareness, the pain and panic fading like a light going out until she stares at him sightlessly. Her arms, which had been weakly smacking the couch flail out, one knocking the forgotten wine glass off the side table. It shatters against the wood floor, sounding faint and distant in Five’s ears.

He releases the woman, hands returning to his sides. Without him to support her, her head lolls to the side sending fresh wave of blood down her neck.

His heart is pounding loudly and the room wobbles around him. The pounding drowns out everything except…except…

Five blinks slowly, the room looking clearer, sharper to his eyes even with the dancing of light and shadow against the walls. He’s not alone.

The pounding had not just been him, but feet on stairs. A man walks into the room, a crease in his brow before he freezes in shock. Five can see him process the scene. His newly wed wife slumped and bloody on the couch with Five standing over her with a bloody knife.

The man charges with a rage filled scream. Five steps to the side, and swipes at the man with the knife, knowing he catches him in the side when the man yells in pain. Fueled by pain and rage the man lashes out quickly, catching Five on the chin and sending him stumbling, knife falling from his fingers. His shoes crunch on the shattered remains of the wine glass. The fire provides a wall of heat behind him.

The man grabs the side table, throwing it at Five and making him duck to avoid being knocked out. It shatters against against the hearth. “What have you done?!” the man demands, charging again. He slams into Five knocking them both to the ground.

Five doesn’t answer. Doesn’t try to explain— _why he cut that woman’s neck wide open and watched her bleed_ —can’t when the man wraps his fingers around his neck and starts squeezing. Five drags his hands down the man’s face, scratching and tearing to get him to let go. The man is dogged though, forcing darkness to encroach on Five’s vision. Five gives up trying to gouge the man, hands scrambling for something to hit him with and coming across the wooden leg of the side table. He swings the leg like a club, hitting the man’s head and sending him sprawling to the side with a cry.

Five sucks in a heaving breath and pushes himself up before the man can recover. The wood in his hand is splintered from the hit and he casts about, looking for the knife or something else he can use finish the job. His hand curls around the fire-poker, the metal warm from being so close to the flames.

The man is still on the ground dazed, eyes glassy and accusatory when he looks at Five. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, words slurred. He gasps wetly, eyes falling on his wife slumped over the couch. “You didn’t have to kill her.”

Five clenches his teeth, grinding them. He chokes down the words he wants to speak, to justify himself to the man he’s going to kill. _It’s the only way._

He raises the poker and brings it down with a _SMACK._

_To save them._

_SMACK._

_Luther._

_SMACK._

_Diego._

_SMACK._

_Allison._

_SMACK._

_Klaus._

_SMACK._

_Ben._

_SMACK._

_Vanya._

The man has long since stopped moving, but Five doesn’t notice as he brings the poker down to squelch wetly in what’s left, sending blood spraying back at him. Their names are a mantra in his head, fuel to the fire burning in his gut.

Blood and sweat drip into Five’s eye, jarring him out of his repetitive motions with his arms raised for another swing.

And just like that the burning fire in him is doused, cold ice spreading in its wake.

His arms drop weakly back to his sides as if all their strength has been sapped, the poker slipping from his limp grasp. He stumbles back on shaky legs, the floor undulating under him with the intent to trip. Five manages to grasp the side of the room’s lonely armchair, steadying himself.

Five doesn’t spare the bodies (bodies, not people) a glance, working on getting his rapid breaths under control as the Handler saunters in from the hall, heels red as ever and dress covered by a trim fur lined coat. His eyes zero in on the tiger print fur, the way it shifts with each movement, like a true predator entering the jungle. The woman smiles stepping up to the couch to examine his work, leaning forward to tilt the body’s head back and get a close look at the slit throat. Five drops his eyes to his hands, the blood a stark contrast against his pale complexion.

“Excellent work, Number Five,” The Handler praises. There’s skin stuck under his nails and he scrapes away at it. “A steady and clean cut, just as I taught you.”

The shattered wine glass crunches under the Handler’s heels as she approaches head tilting to look at the second body laid out in front of the fireplace. “Got carried away here though,” the Handler comments, not sounding displeased by the notion. Five doesn’t look, eyes firmly focused on the stains on his hands. There’s a long swath in the crease of his thumb that refuses to be scrubbed away. Frustrated, he scratches at the skin. He can feel blood congealing on his face, pulling at his skin in spots, hot against his clammy skin, burning like brand. His clothes didn’t escape the damage either, dark spots painting him in splotchy strokes. The edges of his sleeves spread diluted red on the insides of his wrists. “I’ll let it slide. Besides, this certainly looks like a heat of the moment kill. Your little indulgence will actually work in our favor.”

The blood is everywhere, soaking him. Each flake, every molecule that he manages to scrape away doesn’t matter because he can never get it all—

All the blood soaking through to his core at the demand of the Handler.

“You made me a killer,” he breathes, his chest finally slowing its rapid rising and falling.

The Handler stops whatever she was saying, tilting her head, shadowy eyes fixating on him. “What was that?”

“You made me a killer,” he accuses louder, voice rough.

The smile slides off her face.

Five shifts unsettled at the sudden change, the atmosphere becoming heavy with the loss of her grin. The light from the fireplace sends shadows dancing across her face making her hard to read.

The still moment is shattered as she moves, stalking towards him with dark eyes. Five stands quickly, the room wobbling around him from his sudden rush to stand up and retreat. He backs away from her, pulling on his powers to get away only to have them spark and then abandon him to her mercy. His back hits the wall and she crowds in close to him, blocking Five off from the rest of the room. The scent of smoke is heavy on her breath, impossible to avoid with how close they stand. “You were always a killer,” she says lowly.

Five ducks his head to hide from the Handler’s overwhelming presence, cutoff from escape as he is.

She allows it for no more than a moment, hand lashing out, grabbing his chin and forcing him to meet her eyes. He flinches as her nails dig into his cheeks like claws, indenting bloody crescents into him. His hand wraps around her wrist instinctively, tugging against her iron grip weakly and remaining trapped.

“This is what you signed up for,” she reminds him, voice cold. “I didn’t force you here, you came of your own volition. So, stop acting like you’re some innocent. This was always the deal. I didn’t lie to you, there were no tricks. And you know that.” She shifts, grip still tight and forces him to look where she wants, gesturing to the bodies in front of the fire. She whispers in his ear, “ _This was all you._ ”

Five’s eyes lock on Sophie Carson sprawled on the couch like a puppet with cut strings, limbs loose and flung about. Her brown eyes stare at the ceiling, head tipped so far it should be impossible if not for the long cut dividing her neck, stretching into a cavernous separation of flesh. How easy it had been, the blade practically gliding as he separated her from the flow of life.

In front of her lies what used to be Andrew Carson, unrecognizable by the way his head has been pulped by Five’s swings with the poker. There’re wispy swirls of hair drowning in a slowly expanding puddle. Five’s throat closes at the sight, tugging against the forceful hold the Handler keeps him in. _He hadn’t even noticed when the man’s skull gave way, so lost in his own head—_

Two ordinary people.

Knowingly snuffed out by Five’s own hands.

And he’d do it again.

It hadn’t even been _hard_ —

Five blinks rapidly, eyes stinging.

All at once he tries to pull away with renewed vigor, the need to get away all consuming. He needs room, space to process the revelation, he needs to duck away and hide and escape the Handler _to get away from this fucking cabin_ —

His eyes are burning, blurring as his breaths get heavier.

A tear slides down his cheek, carving a path through the blood.

The Handler sees it of course because he can’t _hide_ —

She tuts and he clenches his teeth, willing his body to get under control, to lock down the wild things running rampant through him. It openly defies his wishes, more tears escaping him and his breaths turning into gasps.

A flip is switched, the cold fury melting away to be replaced by a mockingly soft woman. Her eyes suck the light from the room, dark and calculating in contrast to the almost gentle tone of her voice. She watches him like he’s a spectacle just for her, lapping up his shattering control almost gleefully. “There, there,” she says. Her hands move, not to release him, but to slide against his cheeks, smearing salty tears with his victim’s blood, pushing the amalgam deep into his pores.

“You did so well, Five,” she coos.

A hiccupping sob forces its way out of him, and that one slip-up opens the floodgate for more of the pathetic noises.

Five can’t stop himself, spinning wildly out of control. He clenches his eyes shut, unable to look at the Handler anymore. She tugs him closer, folding her arms around him in an embrace. Five doesn’t fight it. Can’t find the energy to do more than cry, thankful that he can at least hide his face in her coat now. She brings a hand to his head, fingers raking through his hair. Nails scratch against his scalp lightly in a calming gesture. For a moment he feels like he’s back home, being hugged by Grace after a nightmare.

The Handler’s voice shatters the illusion. “I'm so proud of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I actually didn't think I'd write this so soon but here we are!  
> I hope this was enjoyable and comprehensible (my wish for everything I post haha)


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